


Darkness from Above

by Alexandria (heartfullofelves)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Pompeii, canon-typical warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/pseuds/Alexandria
Summary: They seek freedom.





	

Saxa stands up straight, a smile on her face as the guards escort Mira into the cell. Mira tosses her hair out of her face and says, “You fought well today.”

“Yes,” replies Saxa, swaggering up to Mira. “You my reward?”

Mira undoes her red tunic and lets it slip to the floor. “Come see for yourself.” She holds her head high, matching Saxa’s stare, unmoving.

Saxa laughs before pulling Mira towards her. “Dominus pleased,” she says as they land on the bed. “In time, I win freedom.”

Mira nuzzles Saxa’s neck, working her way up to whisper in Saxa’s ear, “Spartacus has better plan. One that involves freedom for _all_.”

Saxa glances at the door, but the guards have left them. She nudges Mira out of her way. “I find myself desiring words instead of fucking. Speak.”

Mira’s grin is all-knowing as she sits up and begins to explain Spartacus’s plan for escape.

* * *

Saxa has been waiting months – years – for this. On Mira’s signal, Spartacus attacks, and the gladiators and gladiatrix – Saxa – follow, yelling and rushing forwards, slaughtering the Romans who stole from them and demoralised them. Saxa swings her swords and relishes the sight of Roman blood being spilt. She could die right now and go to the underworld happy, knowing she died in the name of freedom and with a sword in her hand.

Her heart sinks as one of her kinsmen, Duro, is struck down, but then she hears Mira scream as a Roman guard grabs her dark hair and puts a blade to her neck. Saxa slashes her way towards them, pushes Mira out of the way, and slits the man’s throat.

“Gratitude,” says Mira, rubbing her arms.

Saxa swings around. “You must learn fight. For now, take sword.” She hands over one of her blades. “Stay close.”

Saxa is attracted to Mira, for all her distaste of the woman sent to pleasure her at her master’s will, doesn’t want a fellow slave dead if she can help it. So she protects Mira as rivers of blood flow through the villa, the joyous scene of slaves taking vengeance on their masters. There’s little time to teach, but it seems Mira has been observing how the gladiators fight, for she’s not shy in lifting her sword. Saxa smiles as Mira makes her first kill, and claps her on the back.

“Good. Now again,” she says, as there are more Roman swords coming towards them.

When the villa falls silent at last, Saxa knows the fight’s over. Nemetes runs over and tells them Spartacus is about to kill Dominus. Saxa exchanges a look with Mira, and then they’re following Nemetes to watch the great confrontation.

They all know the story of Spartacus and his wife, and Saxa rolls her eyes as the Thracian makes his speech, but her spirits lift when Dominus’s body joins that of his wife in the pool of blood. Saxa raises her sword in glee. The slaves and gladiators, now free men and women, having cast off their chains, erupt in cheers. They’re still cheering as the ground shakes.

“The gods are pleased!” someone declares, and they cheer some more.

Spartacus silences them. “You have a choice. Find a ship and sail home – or stay and fight, until the Romans fall to their knees and beg _you_ for mercy. You are free now, and must make your own decisions. I go to Vesuvius, where we’ll have high ground against the enemies that will follow after today.”

Saxa’s decision is made for her: there’s no home for her in Germania, not now the Romans have destroyed her home and her people. She’ll follow Spartacus – not because she likes or trusts him, but because they have the same desire to send as many Romans to the afterlife as possible before they themselves die a glorious death.

The former slaves ransack the villa, taking coins, jewels, clothes, and anything else they need to survive outside the ludus. After the battle, no-one has enough energy to fight over Roman belongings, so they pack for two groups – those who go to Vesuvius, and those who go to sea.

When night falls, Spartacus tells them to make their final decisions. Every single gladiator, and some of the house slaves, choose to go with him. The rest of the slaves will bribe ship captains to take them elsewhere. Mira is in this group. Saxa sees her helping Varro’s widow pack.

“Why go?” Saxa frowns, strapping on wrist guards.

Mira’s dark eyes are sad, as if she can’t understand why anyone _wouldn’t_ make her choice. “It is freedom I seek,” she explains, “not vengeance. I want to see the land of my birth again, not start a rebellion we cannot win. Is it not enough to massacre the Romans at this villa?”

Saxa shakes her head. “While Romans live, we never be truly free.”

“I am of different mind,” says Mira, “but I cannot persuade you. Fight well, Saxa. Perhaps we’ll meet again in the afterlife.”

“We will,” Saxa promises. Or threatens. Then she adds, “Keep sword,” nodding at her blade at Mira’s hip.

“I hope I’ll never need it,” Mira says with a slight smile. “But gratitude. It’s a fine blade.”

Saxa nods. In her peripheral vision, the others are starting to move off. “ _Pleasure_ knowing you.” She raises her eyebrows.

Mira fixes her with a look. “Go, before they leave without you.” She puts her hand on the small of Saxa’s back and pushes her towards the others.

Before Saxa goes, however, she turns back and grabs Mira’s face, kissing her lips for the first and final time. “ _Now_ I go,” she says, and runs to join her brothers-in-arms.

Saxa doesn’t look back, but she can picture the shocked expression on Mira’s face, and she laughs out loud as she catches up to Nemetes, slinging one arm around him and her other around Donar.

Together, they all march to Vesuvius. There, they defeat an entire centuria of Roman soldiers. They celebrate, but it’s short-lived.

When the ground cracks open and the sky rains fire and ash, Saxa thinks of Mira out there in the Bay of Neapolis, safe and heading for home. She thinks of her brothers and sisters, kin and gladiators and slaves, all beloved. She holds her sword in the air and yells curses at the gods, though it’s preferable to dying at a Roman’s hands.

She thinks of freedom.


End file.
